In Shade and Shadow

this shadow creature was after her or the scroll, but it wouldn't matter if she was carrying it. If the wraith sought both, so much the better to attract its attention.

The main catch in their plan was Shade.

For the last part of the day, Wynn had tried to teach the young majay-hì the most basic words in Numanese. She passed memory after memory of Chap waiting on command during any fight when Leesil had shouted, 'Hold!' Chap had known not to close on an opponent if either Leesil or Magiere was engaged with a weapon that required room to wield.

Each time Wynn passed a memory, she'd held out her palm and spoke words like «hold» or «come» or 'attack.' She had cautiously passed Shade a memory of Chane fighting the wraith the night before, keeping her thoughts locked only on that moment. Hopefully Shade would understand when the time came. By dusk Shade simply lay down and ignored her, either bored or annoyed with all Wynn's nonsense. But Wynn believed—hoped— that Shade understood.

'Don't close too quickly,' Wynn whispered to Chane, 'or il'Sänke won't have time to pull the wraith's —'

'Yes, you said this before,' he rasped. 'As has the Suman.'

'Sorry.'

'But if you are in trouble,' he said flatly, 'the Suman can fend for himself.'

'Stop calling him that! He has a name.'

'There is something wrong about him,' Chane hissed. 'I can nearly smell it!'

Wynn was too anxious to argue anymore.

When—if—the wraith took the bait, she was to run in the direction from which il'Sänke had whistled. Chane and Shade would wait as long as possible, until il'Sänke appeared to engage the wraith. Shade would charge out next, suddenly filling the wraith's awareness, as she slipped from the protection of Chane's ring. Then Chane, still shielded by the ring, could surprise the wraith. Hopefully this would give il'Sänke time to take advantage—and get the staff to Wynn as well.

But Wynn was still worried about what harm that thing might inflict on Chane or Shade in a prolonged fight. They would have to end this encounter quickly. Il'Sänke claimed he could hold the wraith in place, keeping it from escaping. Chane would dive for cover, and Wynn would ignite the staff's sun crystal.

Step by step, the plan was straightforward… in theory.

'It will work,' she repeated.

Chane sighed.

'How did you and Shade and this domin leave the guild after dark?'

'Out the front gates,' she said. 'The city guards weren't there… or maybe they were late.'

A long, low whistle pierced the air, cutting off any more questions. It took Wynn by surprise, and she couldn't tell where it came from.

'He is ready,' Chane whispered, and pointed toward a small shop half a block beyond the Upright Quill and on the street's far side.

Wynn crept around Chane. Holding her palm before Shade's nose and pointing to Chane, she whispered, 'Hold… Attack with him.'

Shade merely rumbled and pushed Wynn's hand away with her nose. Wynn pushed on Shade's snout, and the dog held her place.

Chane gazed across the night street over Wynn's shoulder. 'No matter what happens, do not trust everything il'Sänke says. I do not think… feel… that he speaks the full truth.'

Wynn glanced back. 'What do you mean?'

Chane's expression appeared to change, though it was hard to be certain in the dark. Whatever faint color remained in his eyes suddenly drained away. Only the crystalline irises of an undead stared out into the night… toward the place from which il'Sänke had whistled.

Wynn shivered, but not from the chill air.

In that instant Chane looked like the mad feral monks who had come with him and Welstiel to Li'kän's ice-bound castle.

'Omission can hide the truth… or a lie,' Chane added.

Rodian took supper alone in his office, not caring for even Garrogh's company. He wanted solitude and time to think.

The pieces of this tangled intrigue were disintegrating, and he saw no way to keep them whole. Il'Sänke was the murderer—of that much he felt certain. The domin was the only one who fit all the criteria of ability and inside knowledge. But Rodian had no proof.

What was that man after in the translated pages? What was his motive?

Suddenly Rodian regretted his poor treatment of Wynn, regardless of her naïve outburst. Clearly that had been brought on by Nikolas's delusional account of events.

Rodian looked down at his half-eaten beef, potatoes, onions, and carrots, then lifted his gaze to the growing pile of reports on his desk. Petty thefts, one other yet-to-be-solved murder, and a handful of social disputes required his attention. He'd let everything sit while trying to solve these guild murders and thefts. And with royals and sages standing in his way at every turn, all he had left were his other poorly attended duties—and his failure. Still, he couldn't let it go.

He knew exactly who the killer was, but where could he find proof?

There was only one answer—Wynn Hygeorht.

She'd been studying the translations for two days. She must have learned something, at least a hint of what had been stolen. If so, how could he get her to tell him even that little?

He wouldn't pretend to understand this odd and troublesome little journeyor, but she seemed genuinely driven to protect her guild. Perhaps, like her superiors, she was taking matters too secretly into her own hands. Would she still do so if she uncovered something concerning il'Sänke?

Would she give up her juvenile notions of ghosts and the undead?

Rodian got up and strode for the door. Pulling it open, he lifted his sword hanging upon a coat peg.

'Lúcan!' he shouted into the passageway.

But it was Garrogh who finally ducked around the door.

'Sorry, sir, I've got Lúcan watching the guild's gatehouse tonight.'

Rodian nodded. So far the only report was of Wynn's strange wolf coming back after dark—after escorting one of Pawl a'Seatt's scribes who'd worked too late. Otherwise none of his men had seen anyone come or go past dusk.

He grasped his cloak. 'Have these dishes removed and get Snowbird saddled.'

'Where are you off to?' Garrogh asked bluntly.

'The guild,' he answered.

'I'm coming with you.'

Rodian stiffened. 'Pardon?'

'You're not yourself,' Garrogh said, crossing his arms. 'This sage nonsense has you turned around like a dog that won't stop biting its tail. The men want their captain back, so I'm coming with you, before you bite your tail straight off… sir.'

Rodian was struck mute. He heated up, ready to put Garrogh in his place. Then he remembered the stacks of reports lying upon his desk and suddenly felt weary. Duty wasn't the only thing he'd ignored, if his second now openly faced him down.

'All right,' he agreed. 'But when we get there, wait for me in the courtyard. I need to talk to that journeyor again. She's… odd, and might speak only to me.'

'Of course, sir.'

Together they headed for the stables, saddled their horses themselves, and rode out.

As always, Garrogh's big bay protested at being forced out into the cold. The horse clomped angrily, throwing his head and grinding his bit.

'Next time you requisition a horse, I'll pick it for you,' Rodian chided.